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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731624">NO STARS TONIGHT (just passion, passion)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody'>OverMyFreckledBody</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood Gulch Chronicles, Kinda fluff, Late at Night, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 06, Short, grif needs to sleep</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grif has “Two Trucks” stuck in his head at two in the goddamn morning and it’s all Simmons’ fucking fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>NO STARS TONIGHT (just passion, passion)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>love grimmons a lot but didn't know i'd be writing them again</p><p>saw <a href="https://glompto.tumblr.com/post/189962003263">this picture</a> and had this conversation 3 months ago:</p><p>me: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WchseC9aKTU">that song</a> is their anthem<br/>friend: no.<br/>me: Grif listens to two trucks at 2am and thinks of Simmons<br/>friend: you could write a fic about that<br/>me: no.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The worst time to get an earworm is about two o’clock.</p><p> </p><p>Two in the afternoon means that the song will be stuck there – regardless of it being listened to or not – for the rest of the day. It usually comes in the middle of boredom, or while doing something stupid and mindless (which is usually <em>fantastic</em>). That, of course, means that the brain is stupid enough to focus on it as if its some high form of stimulation or some other bullshit.</p><p> </p><p>That sounds about right, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>At two in the morning, however, means that the song will just sit there and haunt the brain for the rest of the night. This makes it impossible to sleep until it’s been listened to. And that’s on a lucky night, if it leaves after one play. Sometimes that shit takes two or three or the whole fucking album and by then the night’s already cashed out.</p><p> </p><p>Grif has “Two Trucks” stuck in his head at two in the goddamn morning and it’s all Simmons’ fucking fault.</p><p> </p><p>So, take one guess as to what he’s got playing in his helmet right now.</p><p> </p><p>Simmons had been the one to bring it up earlier, as a joke about something or another. It was stupid and dumb like most of their conversations, nothing important (not stuff that Grif found himself repeating over and over in his head later to remember, no way, no, shut up, shut up <em>shut up</em>). He didn’t even remember what the rest of the joke or subsequent conversation was about (he didn’t, nope, nuh uh). He doesn’t know why it would be popping up in his head now.</p><p> </p><p>Like, sure, the song was good. It was catchy. Totally makes sense for it to get stuck in his head, yeah. But why <em>now</em>? Why when he had to sleep?</p><p> </p><p>(Other than the reason <em>of course now, when he’s trying to sleep</em>. But whatever.)</p><p> </p><p>Fucking Simmons.</p><p> </p><p>He looks over at the shithead, cozy and asleep, not plagued by the earworm that he’s cursed Grif with. Of course, he wouldn’t be. That’s just like him, to sleep all peacefully and shit, after making sure someone else – <em>Grif</em> – wouldn’t be able to. Bitch.</p><p> </p><p>He’d laugh, if he knew. If he doesn’t already.</p><p> </p><p>(And it’s not a nice laugh, it’s <em>annoying</em>, okay.)</p><p> </p><p>Grif will never understand how he can stand being all curled up like that. He doesn’t know how he doesn’t overheat and sweat through all the layers. It has gotten kind of better, though. Back when they first arrived, Simmons used to wind himself up into the tightest ball Grif had ever seen a person in. It baffled him, wondering how the hell someone could be comfortable so compacted. Then, over time, Simmons slowly began to unfurl a little, bit by bit. He still slept fetal position, but his hand began to inch its way out every night, until it hung off the bed, as if reaching for something else in his sleep.</p><p> </p><p>(Not that Grif watched him sleep, or anything. He just noticed it, is all. It was <em>weird</em>.)</p><p> </p><p><em>Two trucks, holding hands</em>, Lemon Demon whispers into Grif’s ear right as his eyes land on that single hand outstretched outside of his cocoon of blankets and –</p><p> </p><p>(Fucking shit – oh no, goddamn it.</p><p> </p><p>He totally wants to hold it. Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>Simmons can <em>never</em> know.)</p><p> </p><p>He bets Simmons’ hands would be clammy as shit. Nervous and sweaty like the rest of him. Probably warm with all the blood flow that sweat’s gotta be giving him. That’s probably how that stuff works. Grif has no clue, but that sounds right.</p><p> </p><p>(Why does that sound like a <em>nice</em> thing? That’s so stupid. This is all so stupid. It’s his stupid sleep-deprived brain spewing dumb shit. He’s so glad Simmons is asleep and he isn’t saying this crap out loud to him.)</p><p> </p><p>After a long moment (lasting only a few seconds, really), he flips back onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Fuck it, he’ll spend the rest of the song staring wall and hoping it will be enough. He’ll do this the rest of the night if he has to. Just as long as he doesn’t turn around again.</p><p> </p><p>(Even if he maybe, <em>maybe</em> wants to.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The passion, the passion</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My big fat heart expands</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've gotta stop writing about the hands pining in the middle of night shit, like it's been years but every time i do (why is this a reoccuring thing with me????) i think of that stupid scene from monster's university </p><p>which is probably more than you wanted to know. my bad.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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